She's Come Undone
by lambtoslaughter
Summary: Bella Swan's world was turned upside down when her mother left. Charlie has given up hope, and is dragging his daughter down with him. Can they find a way to move on with their lives? Who will teach them how to love and trust again?
1. chatper 1: requiem for my mother

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or the characters. The title is from an incredible book by Wally Lamb (though the story will not reflect Lamb's story, I felt the title was fitting)**

**A/N: I know this chapter is pretty short, but I stopped at what I felt was a natural stopping point. This story is very different from the other one I have posted, so I just wanted to see what people thought. Eventually, it will be a Jasper/Bella story, but for now it's more about Charlie and Bella. Reviews are appreciated because like I said, I'm curious what everyone thinks. Thanks =)**

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She's Come Undone

chapter 1: requiem for my mother

It was blisteringly hot inside the single-wide, one bedroom trailer I shared with my pops. Especially during the summer. I would lay on the couch, which served as my bed, in the living room, which served as my bedroom, wearing naught but a thin t-shirt and a pair of cotton panties, trying desperately not to move. The more you moved, the hotter you got.

It was a trade-off though, because sometimes when you moved around, you could create your own supplemental breeze, limbs pushing through static air, stirring up non-existent relief. I'd lived in this muggy tin box long enough to know, however, that the relief was only short lived, and you were better off just trying not to move. When you kicked your limbs around too much, the energy you exerted eventually turned to heat, heat that hung around your body like an extra blanket in the already-stifling environment of the trailer. So I learned to remain painfully still, cursing every heart beat that sent warm blood flowing throughout my body. I wondered desperately, and pointlessly, what it would like to be infinitely cold. These were the subjects of my dreams most nights.

I was not always stuck in this perpetual bubble of heat, praying for death by nuclear winter. As a child growing up, I couldn't have been happier to live in the bilstering heat of Phoenix. How naive that seemed now.. But back then, before my mother left, we had been happy.

We had lived across town from where we did now, in suburb heaven. Our three bedroom, two bath home had been modest and comfortable, though certainly nothing to brag about. We'd had a beautiful green lawn, which was somewhat rare in Arizona. It was a product of my mother's meticulous nature and our constant supply of running water. It was average.. ordinary.. wonderful.

And it had central air.

I sighed blissfully at the memory, and the ghost of a smile played upon my lips. I couldn't think of that time without feeling momentarily happy... But the happiness was always short-lived, a fleeting thing, as flighty and restless as my mother. Unfortunately for me, it was the misery which followed that kept me company long after the happiness had gone. These were the hazards of remembering my former life.

Renee took off when I was twelve. She woke me up early the morning that she left, while it was still dark out. The purple sky was just beginning to lighten, warm shades of orange tinging the horizon. We had gone out front, and I remember noticing that the lawn was beginning to yellow. It struck me as odd, because Renee had always kept it up. She loved seeing the dark green squares of grass in that world taupe and orange, patches of life amidst the dry and barren desert landscape. She said it reminded her of her childhood in California. She'd always promised to take me there, but we had never gone.

We sat in the driveway, hand in hand, neither of us speaking, me still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Looking back, I guess I should have known that something was up, but it never even occurred to me to be alarmed. Renee was always doing strange things like this. She was impetuous, fun-loving, daring, and somewhat child-like. Charlie always joked that _I _was the one who took care of _her_. She would smile when he said it, and laugh along with us, at our running familial joke, but the smile didn't reached her eyes. Charlie never noticed, but that memory still plagues me, taunting me, making me wonder if things could have been different.

The sun was well into its daily ascent, the rays kissing my forearms and hinting coyly at the heat of the day to come, when Renee finally spoke.

"I love you, Rapunzel," she told me, using my childhood nickname. When I was a toddler, I refused to let her cut my hair. Since then I went in for trims, acknowledging the need to take care of split ends, but my hair would always be long. It was the bane of my existence in the hot summer months, and Charlie was always threatening to cut it off in the middle of the night, so I would stop whining about how it clung to my sweaty shoulders. But I knew he never would.

I wore it long like _she_ wore it long.

It brushed against the waistband of my pajama bottoms as I swung it slightly back and forth. I hugged my legs to my chest and rested my chin thoughtfully on my knees. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but it felt like there was something more she needed to say, so I stayed quiet and waited.

Whatever she had wanted to say, she never said it.

When the sun had climbed high enough into the sky that I knew it was time for me to go and get ready for school, I stood up wordlessly and turned to head back inside. My mother reached out and grabbed my hand rather roughly. I looked down at her, surprised, and pulled back involuntarily. Her face fell, and I recognized that there was pain reflected in her eyes, and for just a moment, a little bit of something else..

What that something was, I could never be sure. Longing, perhaps. Guilt. A glimmer of hope. And maybe, just maybe, a touch of anticipation.. But my twelve-year-old eyes simply couldn't see it. And a moment later, it was gone. She smiled at me as she stood up and brushed off the seat of my pjs.

"Go get ready for school, baby," she said brightly, "And Esme will be by to drive you." I started off toward the house again, and she stopped me one last time. "And Bella?" she added. I turned back around to face her, annoyed. I didn't want to be late for school.

"Yes, mom," I answered dutifully, trying to hide my restlessness. My body language gave me away as I shifted my weight back and forth impatiently.

"Take care of your father,"she said. When I looked at her quizzically, cocking my head to one side in a silent question, she added, almost as an afterthought,

"I'll be home late tonight."

It was the last thing she ever said to me. And it was a lie.


	2. chapter 2: penance

**Disclaimer: I don't own the title or the Twilight characters. **

**A/N: Reviews mean so much to me because this story is so different from my typical style of writing. I would really appreciate any feedback, whether good or bad. Thanks for reading! Other characters will show up pretty soon.**

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chapter 2: penance

She left us that day.

She took off while I was in school and Charlie was at work at the station.

She left no notes or phone numbers where we could reach her. She left no forwarding address, and certainly nothing resembling an explanation.

She did leave most everything else.

Her clothes hung in her closet for months after her departure. From what Charlie and I could ascertain, she'd packed only one suitcase. She took that, and her car, and six hundred dollars from savings. The rest of her life, she abandoned.

Including Charlie and me.

I was so angry with her then. But my twelve-year-old mind just couldn't process the magnitude of what my mother had done. I wasn't angry at her for leaving; I couldn't think about the fact that she may never be coming back. So I focused all my anger on something far more specific.

My newly budding breasts were just beginning to swell on my chest, and I knew menstruation was right around the corner. How could she leave me and Charlie to deal with the repercussions of my femininity alone? My dad had barely been able to look at me the past summer; it took me four months to realize he was too embarassed to tell me I needed to start wearing a bra. Renee had finally noticed, painfully late, and taken me to the mall.

Now she wouldn't be around at all.

Painfully late was still better than never.

I had panicked at the thought of Charlie and I in the tampon aisle at the drugstore, him looking utterly lost as he held up a box of maxi-pads and something called _Depends_ (a product which I was fairly certain was _not_ intended for menstruation) and attempted to read the directions to me right there in public. I knew I could not let this vision come true.

And so I hid the new evidence of my womanhood for months.

Charlie eventually caught on; dads are never as clueless as their daughters believe. He actually handled the situation with much more grace than I would have thought.

He called Esme.

Esme was my mother's best friend. She lived just a couple streets away, and she and Renee had met while they were both pregnant, my mother with me, Esme with her daughter Alice. They had attended Mommy-to-Be Jazzercise classes together (this was in the early nineties, before the yoga trend), and bonded over their shared love of trashy daytime television and McDonald's french fries.

Esme was everything that Renee was not. She was calm and composed, quiet, tactful. She baked cookies and drove a mini-van and always remembered to pack an extra lunch for me, since Renee so often forgot.

I loved her irrevocably.

The day I was inducted into womanhood, I heard my father speaking in hushed tones in the other room. He was on the phone. I heard him set down the receiver, and walk up behind the couch in the living room, where I was watching television. He cleared his throat.

"I, uh, I'm gonna go run to the store," he said gruffly. "Get some beer. You want anything?" In hindsight, I think the beer was an attempt to preserve his masculinity after his conversation with Esme about my period. I shook my head.

"No Dad, I'm fine," I told him, not bothering to look up from the television. He took a step toward the door and added, as if it were an afterthought, "Oh yeah, and Esme is going to stop by while I'm gone."

I narrowed my eyes, sensing that something was up, and turned around. In the three seconds it took for me to do so, he was already out the door. I rolled my eyes. Now I _knew_ something was up.

My dad only performs his disappearing act when he's uncomfortable.

So I waited.

A few minutes later there was a soft knock on the door. It was Esme. Thankfully, she had left Alice at home. Though we were as close as sisters, I think Alice's over-enthusiasm for life likely would have extended to my menstrual cycle, and I just didn't feel like celebrating my little monthly intruder quite yet. I was still mourning the loss of my childhood.

Esme had smiled at me a lot, encouraged me to ask questions, and squeezed my hand a few times reassuringly for good measure. Truth be told, she probably did a lot better explaining things than Renee would have- I could just see Renee throwing a box of tampons at my head and telling me to be sure and wear black underwear for a few days' time- but I missed my mother. I couldn't help but wish it was her by my side, explaining things, stroking my hair.

But it hadn't been. Esme had gotten me through that awkward time, and so many others since. She had tried to help Charlie too, but he just missed my mom so much... He was inconsolable.

Charlie held it together for almost a year after Renee left. Every morning he got up and went to the station, forcing a big, fake smile onto his face for my benefit. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed him, telling of sleepless nights and infinite bad dreams, but I never let on that I knew. He was my father, after all, and he was a good man. He was trying to be strong for both of us. He was a man's man, a cop, and from a different generation; he saw his own pain as a sign of weakness, and would have been crushed to think that his daughter saw it too.

He already saw himself as a failure of a husband. I didn't want him to think he had failed me as a father as well.

So I said nothing. I watched my dad tumble further into the abyss.

It startd off innocently enough. He and his best friend Billy always drank a six-er when they watched the games on tv. Then I noticed he started buying a twelve-pack instead, and polishing most of it off himself. I never knew if Billy said anything, but if he did, my father didn't listen.

Pretty soon he was drinking every night, just so he could get some sleep. He was not a mean drunk by any means; at first I actually thought the drinking was doing him some good. He seemed to be sleeping more, and he was always happier after a couple of beers. But the drinking quickly took its toll on him and everything got out of hand.

Beer was no longer quenching his thirst, and so he graduated to hard liquor. He would sit in front of the television night after night, with a whiskey in one hand and the remote in the other, saying very little. Occasionally he'd sneak outside and I began to suspect he had taken up smoking as well. I started to worry.

I was thirteen years old. I wanted my father back.

The alcohol had hooked him, and every drink he took dragged him farther and farther away from the man that he had once been.

My father was no more.

But he still got up every morning and went to work. He began to look more and more ragged as the days and weeks went on; the alcohol was taking it's toll. Charlie was battling his demons, and the demons were winning. But he tried so hard to maintain his role as a provider, even until the very end. It broke my heart. My father was a drunk, but he was a good man.

The final nail in Charlie Swan's proverbial coffin was the day they asked him to resign from his duties as an officer.

I heard the news from Esme; the Lieutenant had called her to ask her to check in on me. Charlie had come in to work that day reeking of booze, and it was the last straw. The Lieutenant told Esme he had no choice; his hands in the matter were tied. It was no longer an issue of friendship or loyalty or my father's years of service to the city; it had become an issue of public safety. The Lieutenant refused to have my father's or anyone else's blood on his hands.

Charlie went on a three-day bender. I went and stayed with Esme and Alice. After three days of doing God-knows-what, Billy Black intervened. My dad recovered at Billy's house for another three days. I didn't see or hear from him for that whole week.

I don't know what would have happened to him if Billy had not intervened. I don't like to think about it.

After that, we had to move. We packed up what we could, the leftover pieces of a life that was no longer ours, and got rid of the rest. I could hardly stand it when I was forced to pack up my mother's closet. This was her fault; she did this to us. She had left us, bruised and broken, to clean up the mess that _she_ made of _our_ lives.

Alice found me on the floor of the closet, crying. I know she wanted to comfort me, but it was one of those moments for which all words sound utterly meaningless. So she just placed a small, tentative hand on my back and we sat there in silence.

Billy Black saved us from becoming homeless.

Due to the terms under which my father's contract was terminated, he was not eligible to receive unemployment. He did receive some kind of stipend each month, but it wasn't much. I didn't know exactly _how_ much; the truth was, he probably still would have blown it all on booze if Billy didn't intercept it each month, cash it, and give a good chunk of it to me, to buy groceries. The rest he begrudgingly gave to my dad, always encouraging him to save it.

"Start a college fund for Bella," he would say. As far as I know, no such fund exists.

Whatever was left over each month after buying groceries and gas for my car and any other necessary bills that I made sure we took care of wasn't nearly enough to pay rent on an apartment, let alone the mortgage on our house. So we sold the house, and for cheap; the money had been used to pay off some lingering credit card debts, and there may have been some left over in savings. I didn't know the details of our significantly lacking finances. But without Billy Black, I am certain we would have eventually ended up on the streets.

Billy lived on the reservation on the outskirts of Phoenix, in a little yellow house, with his son Jacob. They had a single-wide mobile home on their property, and Billy had insisted that Charlie and I move in there. It had belonged to Billy's mother; she had lived there, to be close to Billy and Jake, before she died.

Charlie and I lived here now.

The muggy tin box was both a blessing and a curse.

I owed my life to Billy Black, in a good way. I owed my life to my mother, in a bad way.

One day, my mother would pay for what she did to me and Charlie. And her penance would be to spend all of eternity rotting in Hell in a little trailer just like this one.

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**A/N: Really quick note: when I said Bella's "inducted into womanhood" this is not the first day she got her period, it's just the first day Esme tells her about it and she feels as if she's actually becoming a woman.. but she did hide it from her dad for a few months. I just noticed that in the chapter and didn't want ppl to be confused or think it was a mistake or something. =) **


	3. chapter 3: James

**A/N: short chapter.. I've been sick lately. =(**

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chapter 3: James

On blistering days such as this one, when the temperature is pushing one hundred and it isn't even ten o'clock in the morning yet, I go see James. James is a friend of mine; his family actually bought the house I used to live in, from the people Charlie sold it to. James lives there now, with his mother, Victoria, and her "partner," Lauren. His mom and Lauren are always gone, so on especially hot days I make the short-but-stifling trip across town in my ancient old Ford Focus (which of course has no working AC) to hang out at his house.

Between the air-conditioning, the swimming pool they had put in out back, and the sweet lovin' I got from James, it was always well worth the trip.

I was especially excited today because yesterday was James' eighteenth birthday. So today we were going to celebrate. I stopped at Circle K to pick up some party favors.

I got us each a slushee, red for me, blue for him, and a pack of condoms. After a moment's hesitation, I went ahead and grabbed him a "men's" magazine, too. I mean, it was his birthday.

The guy behind the counter glared at me for a minute but didn't ask for my I.D. He probably knew I was only sixteen, too young to buy the porno, but he let it slide. I climbed back behind the wheel of my car, drinking my slushee and using James' as a cold compress against my hot forehead. I turned the key in the ignition, and sped the last couple of miles to James' place.

My old place.

It was rather strange to be back in that house. If I squinted, I could almost make out the ghosts of my broken family, eating at the breakfast nook, laughing in the family room, playing on the once-green lawn outside.

The lawn that was no longer there.

Victoria had torn out the grass and replaced it with tile. It looked nice, but I missed the vivid patches of green.

I pulled into James' driveway and shut off my car, trying to push away the haunting images of my past as I grabbed the condoms, magazine, and slushees and headed towards his door.

I didn't bother knocking; James always left the door open for me. I slipped soundlessly inside the house, sighing as the cool air assaulted my skin.

It was blissful.

Now, to find James, and possibly engage in _another_ sort of bliss. I tip-toed back to his room, which thankfully had not been mine. (James had claimed the guest bedroom as his own, so as to be as far away from his mother and her lesbian lover as possible.) I paused in the hallway outside of his door, which was open just a crack, and peeked inside.

The sight that met my eyes was beautiful, as usual.

James was sprawled out on his bed, completely naked, sleeping soundlessly. He was laying on his stomach, and the long-ish blonde hair feathering out around his head made him look somewhat angelic. His ass was sticking into the air, and whole scene was more adorable than erotic. I stripped down to my panties and thin cotton undershirt, climbed into bed next to him, and then straddled his back. He peeked up at me in a way that made me wonder if he'd even been sleeping at all.

"Hey, beautiful," he said.

"Happy birthday, baby," I told him. He craned his neck up, and I bent down and met him halfway, for a kiss.

James and I weren't really together, but we weren't really _not_ together, either. He was the closest thing I'd ever had to a boyfriend, and for now at least, I had no complaints. He was fun to be with, gorgeous, and a genuinely good person.

Plus, he had a pool.

From where I was perched on his back, I reached over to his bedside table to present him with his gifts.

"Bells, do you mind..? I kinda want to put on some shorts..." James trailed off.

Believe it or not, I had almost forgotten he was naked.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I told him, laughing. He stood up with me still half-straddling his back and deposited me unceremoniously on his bed. I plopped down rather harder than he probably meant for me to, and nearly spilled his slushee. I readjusted myself on his bed, attempting to look somewhat ladylike b

crossing my legs at the ankle. James pulled on a pair of khaki shorts that hung low on his hips, and I noticed he didn't bother with boxers. He turned back towards me, a big grin on his face.

"So is that for me?" he asked, indicating the slurpee. I nodded and handed it to him, noticing how his smile grew wider. "The blue kind. Awesome. Thanks, Bells." His smile was so genuine, I was happy I had put it there. I handed him the rest of his "presents," and he just chuckled. He put the condoms on his bedside table, and tossed the magazine on the floor.

"Bella, Bella, Bella," he smiled when he spoke my name, in a way that let me know he was just happy to say it. "What do I need with a magazine like that when I've got the most beautiful girl in the world, right here in my bedroom?" He looked me up and down. "And half-dressed, I might I add."

I shrugged. "I don't know, don't all guys like looking at those things?" I was secretly pleased he had no interest in it. James may not be my boyfriend, but that doesn't mean I don't care for him.

I care for him more than I would like to admit. More than I ever meant to allow myself to.

But I will never allow myself to love him.

I'd learned the hard way the kind of disappointment and pain that accompanies a love lost, and I never wanted to feel that way about James. The pain of loving him and losing him would be too great.

So I scoff when he says sweet things to me. I roll my eyes when things get too serious. I make sure that he knows all we can ever be is close friends.

And if I ever feel myself allowing him to get to close, well.. I just look around at where we are.

My old house.

The ghost of my mother helps to keep my feelings for James at bay.

I looked over at him and saw he had grabbed us a couple of towels, and some sunscreen.

"Wanna go for a swim?" he asked.

I smiled at him, took his hand wordlessly, and allowed him to lead me outside.


	4. chapter 4: Jacob

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters.**

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chapter 4: Jacob

James and I made love in the pool, and then fell asleep beside it. Thank god he remembered to grab the sunscreen. When I awoke, the sun was considerably lower in the sky, and I estimated that it was already past two o'clock. I swore under my breath, and untangled my limbs from James'.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," I told him as he groaned beside me. "It's time for us to get out of the sun."

I started heading back towards his house, stopping to watch him until he followed me. James complied silently, looking slick and sweaty and delectable as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"I should go," I told him when we were standing in his kitchen. His eyes had finally opened and were currently adjusting to the light. "I should probably check in on my dad."

James made a face, clearly unhappy at the idea of my imminent departure.

"Aww, Bells, you never stay long enough," he whined, smirking at me mischievously and backing me up against the counter. The granite felt cool against my sun-kissed skin. James planted his feet on opposite sides of mine, holding me firmly in place. His eyes searched my face for some hint as to what I was feeling, so I looked down at my toes. My refusal to meet his gaze upset him; hurt him. But I still couldn't bring myself to lift my eyes to his.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he told me in a voice barely above a whisper. He sounded almost choked when he said it.

I still couldn't look at him. I forced myself out of his embrace, and he didn't fight me. He sighed in a way that made me feel sad, and a little guilty. But more than anything, his sigh reminded me to focus. I _could not _fall in love with James. So I went to his room, gathered my clothes, and left.

He let me go with one chaste kiss on the lips.

It wasn't even three o'clock when I got home, but my dad was already plastered. He sat in front of the little tv, which was situated in the middle of what was technically my bedroom, and didn't even flinch when I came in.

Apparently, he was more focused on the game and his whiskey than what his not-so-innocent daughter had been up to for the afternoon. I wasn't surprised.

I doubted he had eaten anything since last night's casserole; I practically had to hand-feed him now. My dad had always been a healthy eater; I had never seen him look as thin, and yet as _puffy_, as he did now.

I went about my business fixing him a sandwich.

When I placed it in front of him, he glared up at me as if I was a traitor.

"Aren't _you_ going to eat anything?" he asked. I shook my head and shoved the plate further toward him, and he begrudgingly picked it up and nibbled.

My work there was done.

I went into Charlie's room to lie down, and get a little privacy. When I passed the mirror that hung from the back of his bedroom door, I stopped to examine myself. I had to acknowledge, even drunk-and-irresponsible Charlie had a point: I was looking quite thin. I made a mental note to eat something later, and collapsed on the bed.

I didn't stay lying there for long.

I was restless; anxious; bored. I didn't know what to do with myself now that I was here, and Charlie was fed. I had an internal alarm that went off at certain times of the day, screaming at me to _Go home!!_

and _Take care of your father!!_ But once the work was done, all I wanted to do was leave again.

I thought briefly of calling James, of having an encore of what we'd done earlier in the pool, but then I remembered his comments in the kitchen today and decided against it.

James was starting to fall for me, and I could not let that happen.

So I decided to go look for Jacob.

Jacob is Billy Black's son, and he's a year or two younger than me. He's immature and irritating and nosy.. and also my best friend. Somehow I can tell him things I could never even say to Alice.

Maybe that's because he lost his mother, too.

I found Jacob in the little shed off the path behind his house, just like I knew I would. He likes to spend his time out there, toying, tinkering, and just being alone.

Billy Black can be pretty intense.

I walked up to the shed silently, hoping to scare him; I loved making Jake jump. But of course, the image in my mind of his face when I scared him sent me into a giggling fit, which in turn clued Jake in to my presence.

Fuck.

He turned around to face me, and a huge grin spread across his face. "Bells! What's the joke?" he asked in response to my giggling. "Something dirty..?" he asked, sounding slightly hopeful.

I shook my head. Teenage boys.

"Nah, I was just picturing your face, and it made me laugh." Well, it was partly true.

His grin soured and he glared at me.

"Well you're not looking so hot yourself," he retorted, letting his gaze fall over my body. "Eat much?"

"Occasionally." Shit. Guess I really better start taking in more calories. "So what're you up to?" I asked.

"Ah, nothing.. Mostly just avoiding my dad." He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. Billy's chair couldn't make it out to the shed. "You know how he gets sometimes.."

"Trust me kid, I'm an expert when it comes to avoiding fathers," I reminded him, at that seemed to put him at ease. "'Course I think I've got it a little worse than you.." I said, half-teasing.

Like Freud, I believe there is always some truth to every joke.. well, at least the funny ones.

"Whatever, Bella, you don't even realize how great you have it! What I wouldn't give to have a dad who let me get away with whatever I wanted.." He stared wistfully off into the distance.

For the second time in the last minute, I gaped at the naivete of teenage boys.

I was _not_about to get into the embarrassing and self-deprecating conversation of which one of us motherless teens had it worse.

So I changed the subject.

Jacob and I talked about school, his new girlfriend Leah, the issues he was having with his dad, and a silly spat he was having with one of his buddies. That's what I loved about Jake; he was open and honest and gossiped like a girl. When we were done chatting about him, he finally asked the question I'd been dreading, but expecting:

"So how are things with you and James?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek and didn't respond.

"Bells," Jacob said warningly, "What did you do to the poor guy?" I guess I must have looked guilty.

"Nothing!" I insisted. "James is fine, I'm fine, we're all.. fine," I finished lamely.

"Bullshit. What's going on?" he demanded. Fuck. I never did have much of a poker face.

I knew I should probably spill everything to Jacob.. The way I was feeling, how scared I was at letting someone get too close, what it meant to allow myself to be that vulnerable with someone.. But I just couldn't do it.

I was too chicken.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I kissed Jake.

I pressed my mouth firmly against his, forcing it to stay there for a few moments until he conveniently forgot what we had been talking about, then pulled away.

It worked.

He was utterly speechless, and James, utterly forgotten.

By Jacob, anyway.


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